Author's Note: This takes place after Mary and Bash's first kiss, but before the legitimization plot. The story was partially inspired by the beautiful song "Wasting My Young Years" by London Grammar which aired on Reign in the third episode. I really feel like it describes Mary's life in so many ways; heartbreaking, but beautiful! Anyway, I own nothing, and I hope you enjoy! Reviews are appreciated!
Wasting My Young Years
Mary, Queen of Scots once again found herself roaming the castle grounds, the coolness of twilight doing little to calm her fraying nerves. For hours she had waited for Francis, only for him to come to her chambers in a burst of energy too late with his shirt disheveled and the faint red mark of another woman's lips at his neck. Olivia, she was sure. Crumpling the letter from her mother in her hands, Mary had pushed passed him, storming into the corridor, claiming she didn't need his advice, his assistance with the matter anymore, that she was fine. Now, pacing underneath the grove of dying trees, Mary bit her bottom lip fiercely, willing the tears not to fall. She was stronger than this, she knew how to wait, how to be patient, even if she wasn't very good at it.
Wringing her hands together, she turned around at the edge of the castle grounds and paced forward, drawing closer and closer to the woods. The Blood Wood, she had heard them called. Standing at the border of the trees, Mary stared into them, their darkening depths calling forth with the humming of crickets and croaks of toads. For a split second, her mind fuzzy with anger and sadness, she considered taking another step. Leaping into the enclosure and running until her lungs ached, they way she had run so freely at the convent—without worry or care.
"Mary!" A familiar voice called behind her, unmistakable apprehension in his voice.
"Bash," she whispered, standing still for a moment, composing herself before she turned to face him.
He dismounted his stallion, handing the reins to a servant boy as he stepped closer to the edge of the castle grounds, bridging the gap between them with a few long strides. "What are you doing out here? It's nearly dark," he chided softly, his furrowed brow coming into view as he stopped in front of her. "Where are your ladies?"
"I wanted to be alone," she smiled distantly, her eyes shifting back to Bash as the boy walked away with the horse. "I'm in no danger from these woods, I assure you."
He studied her for a moment, his brow dipping over his observant gaze. "No danger from the woods, but from elsewhere I presume?" His tone was gentle, his perceptions causing her to shift under the weight of implication.
Mary's skirts rustled over the earth as she swayed, her hands unclenching and smoothing them over in one fluid motion. Lips parting, she met his eyes unflinchingly. "Yes," she murmured. Her teeth tore at her lip for a tense moment as Bash's eyes welcomed her to unburden herself, to free her soul of entrapped anguish.
"He was with Olivia, I'm sure of it," escaped her lips on a fragile sigh. Pressing her fingertips to her forehead for a moment, she allows her hand to drop as quickly. "Mother tells me to be patient, that it's just the way things are, and I can't expect him to be faithful yet…ever. What kind of union is this? I can't even depend on him…France to help my country, much less…" Her words came out in a rush, a dam broken inside her that refused to be shut up again. Her flustered speech gave way to angry tears that rolled and tumbled and multiplied down her ivory cheeks.
Without a word, Bash stepped closer, drawing her into his arms gently. Her forehead pressed against his shoulder, her tears flowing freely, soaking into his exposed tunic, rolling warmly down his skin. Feeling her body tremble, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, knowing very well he was defying his brother's threat to stay away from Mary. He didn't care.
It seemed an eternity before she disentangled her arms from around his body, pressing her fingers beneath her eyes to staunch the flow of tears. Bash watched her, his arms limply hanging at his sides, as she regained her composure, as her posture straightened to a rigidness only a true royal could muster. He felt uncouth and ill-mannered by comparison, but he found that when she met his eyes again, hers were filled with gratitude and softness.
"I'm s-"
"Don't," Bash interrupted her softly, admiration emanating from his eyes. "I told you that you weren't alone here, I meant it."
Her smile was one of thankfulness, her eyes trained on his until the tension between them was palpable. Looking down at her feet, Mary composed herself quietly before looking up again, her eyes pensive and somber as her smile faded away. "Sometimes I wish I could just run away…go back to Scotland, my mother. Sometimes, I feel like I'm wasting my young years, waiting. Waiting for the alliance to be secured, waiting for England to take my country and my crown, waiting for Francis to…"
"Truly love you." It wasn't a question.
"Yes," she breathed softly, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as his eyes stared into hers.
Bash unconsciously took a step forward, gathering her smalls hand in his. "You're not wasting your life, Mary. The alliance will hold, I'm sure of it. Scotland will be saved. If I were King, I'd give you everything you require and more. I…" He faltered, his lips slowed by the way she looked up at him, a mixture of hope, longing, and desire. Swallowing roughly, he continued. "You are cared for, Mary. Maybe not by those who matter most, who could make a difference in your plight, but I…I care deeply for you. My allegiance will not change."
Mary stared up at Bash, her heart racing as his words settled upon her. The weight of them unsettled her balance and she swayed unbidden against him. Her heart ached in its cage, for Francis, for Bash, for the reality of her situation and the fact that only a few weeks ago she had clearly expressed that the kiss between them had been a mistake. How naive had she been to think so; perhaps it hadn't been right, but it had been anything but something she had not wanted in her heart of hearts.
With a shaky breath, Mary leaned toward him. Her eyes flickered from his eyes to his mouth, her own dangerously close. Aware of how blatantly she was defying Francis, Mary's hand loosened from his brother's and rested firmly against his chest. She could feel him moving too, drawn by some strange sort of gravity closer, so close she could feel his warm exhalations against her cheek. But it didn't change the reality of her plight, that Francis was the dauphin, not Bash. That Francis was the one she was pledged to, the one she would marry, regardless of the current situation.
As their lips nearly brushed, Mary pulled away, fresh unshed tears sparkling in her eyes. As Bash opened his bright, confused pools, his brow furrowed over them; Mary couldn't deny she saw the pain in them as well. Pressing her lips together, her hand fell away from his chest, her eyes studying the earth beneath their feet as silence reigned between them.
"Mary," Bash pleaded, "Talk to me."
At the sound of his coarse voice, she looked into his eyes once more, a new resolution in them. "No matter what I want, my destiny does not change," she whispered solemnly, squeezing his hand. "I see that now. I care for you Bash, but I won't bring you heartache. I'd be no better than Francis."
"I don't care about heartache, Mary. I'll survive it," Bash said fiercely, without hesitation.
"I won't," she whispered, her throat tightening with sorrow.
With a soft cry, she pulled away completely. Straightening her shoulders, Mary walked back toward the castle, ever feeling the weight of Scotland around her neck, pulling her down, limiting her in ways that she could never have foreseen. No, she thought miserably, the danger was not in the woods for her. The true dangers were of the heart, of what she wanted and what she could never have.
Her eyes were opened now, and they could not be closed, no matter how much she wished they could be. They burned with the realization as the tears finally slipped down her cheeks. As she tried to ignore Bash's plaintive callings and stay the course, some small part of her wondered how long she could live this way. Wasting her youth in waiting, denying herself happiness, true love. She had never been good at waiting, and her patience was waning with every passing day. It took everything in her to keep her feet moving forward, her eyes focused on her fate. How unfortunate was it to be queen.